


Lucky

by Splinter



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, F/M, I Did Not Make Up the Mall Blame George and Nico, Lingerie, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Movie(s), Underground Mall, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, wasteland anxieties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 19:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10224992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splinter/pseuds/Splinter
Summary: On a trip to the underground mall, Furiosa spots Max staring at the lingerie shop. She decides to surprise him.Fill for thesmutty_arts art prompt challenge, inspired bygorgeous NSFW artbyyoukaiyume.





	

Furiosa’s cranklight is flickering. She’s flustered, annoyed at being out of her depth. This shop is small, compared to the big stores in the buried mall, but the stock is bewilderingly varied. She doesn’t really know what she’s looking for.

She’s allowed herself time out from the real purpose of this expedition. The last time she came here, with Max, they’d identified a further wing of the buried shopping centre, hidden behind a collapsed ceiling. She’s returned with a tunnelling crew, trained in propping and precise explosives, but without Max. He’s left again, a scouting trip, a need for the desert. She’s not sure how comfortable he’d have been with a full crew job, anyway.

It’s gone well, better than she’d hoped. Beyond the rubble, what they’d thought was a dead end turned a corner, revealing another row of shops beyond. Some of the stock is worthless, perished plastic and food crumbled into dust, but there’s a shoe shop and a large clothes emporium. 

They’re taking footwear first, filling up the truck for the trip back to the Citadel, with plans for more return visits. While the crew get on with loading their equipment, Furiosa has taken a moment to look at the main mall. This little store is mostly neglected, these days, already picked over. Its flimsy garments had included some useful elastic, but most are so elaborate, so wispy, that they’ve been left alone.

It’s not that she doesn’t know what the clothes are for. She’s seen women wearing bras even now, prized heirlooms or recently discovered stashes. Besides, the shop has pictures, and even mannequins. There’s one at the front of the shop, framed by a glassless window. 

She’d noticed Max looking at this little shop, with its figure dressed in frills. There had been something in his face when he turned to her. She’d half expected him to ask, to suggest they go in, but he’d let it drop. 

Thinking about it afterwards, she’d remembered the time he brought her ribbons, narrow scraps of silk and lace. He brings her things with no obvious purpose, sometimes: pretty stones, toys that are just for looking at. The morning after he arrived, she’d woken early, looked through the little packet again while he slept. When he woke up, he’d draped the ribbons over her, tickling her with satin and watching the way the lace cast patterned shadows on her bare body. 

She had found uses for them. The ribbons were good for mending, and for tying up plants. She’d used three to hang up a seedling he’d brought her, the colours pretty against the green. He’d liked that, touched the lace bow holding the plant pot. Seeing this shop again, she’d thought of the way he’d looked at her, at the decorative scraps against her skin. 

So here she is, trying out underwear. She just hadn’t expected it to be so complicated. How many ways can you tie fabric around breasts? One piece of packaging even boasts that it can be worn multiple ways, a long strap wound in different directions. The bra itself is gone, probably turned into somebody’s slingshot. 

The one she’s picked up has padding. It’s not protective, the fabric too lightweight for defence. It must be to make the breasts look bigger, as full and plump as a milking mother’s. She knows that’s popular at the Citadel, but she also knows that Max likes her breasts as they are, going by how much he enjoys touching them. 

She wants to surprise him, but she’s not sure what he wants, what he’ll find sexy. She firmly squashes her other thought, that getting him a surprise is tempting fate, is letting the universe know that she expects him to come safely back to her.

She gives herself a shake, cranks the light up again. She can’t take much longer, the crew must be half-way through loading. She’s lucky they haven’t come to find her yet. 

At least the underpants are understandable, and seem to come in sets with the bras. Some are in bright colours. Most have lace. She finds several that look as if they’d be the right size, only to be baffled by trying them on. There isn’t time to take her arm off, which doesn’t help. She’s used to her own bodice, but not sure how easy it will be to do these tiny hooks up one-handed.

It’s a relief to find a bra that fastens at the front, between the breasts. At least she’ll be able to see what she’s doing, rather than reaching behind her own back. It’s a little tight when she tries it on over her shirt, so hopefully it will fit her bare skin. She feels a sneaking sense of relief that it’s black, simpler than some of the things she’s seen, though it does have lace, and a bow on the matching underpants. She likes the lace, a stylised pattern of flowers and leaves. The many mothers had drawn plants like that, turning remembered green into familiar, lasting shapes.

She wraps the underwear in a scarf she finds – that’s flimsy, too, though it looks practical next to the underwear – and tucks it away in her pack. She’s back in the main space by the time the crew come out with boxes.

“Find anything?” asks Lug. He thinks she’s been scavenging; well, so she has. She shakes her head.

“Nothing useful.” It’s not exactly a lie.

Four days later, Max comes back. It’s not until then that she realises how scared she’s been, honestly worried that her ridiculous underwear will jinx him. Furiosa isn’t superstitious, as a rule. She’s seen too many talismans fail to put any faith in them; rituals and tokens make no difference to the desert. She still feels that she’s taken a risk in expecting him home, in letting herself plan for it. She presses their foreheads together and holds him tight, out in the garage where anyone can see.

“Hey, hey,” he says, arms wrapping around her. She pulls him upstairs and just holds him, snuggled together, her cheek on his heartbeat. She does mean to change into the underwear, but somehow it doesn’t happen; she’s just so glad to have him back. She forgets the next night, too. Then she realises she’s putting it off.

Furiosa does not put things off. She will not let herself be scared of something, particularly not of something this small and foolish. Her best response to fear has always been fanging it: she decides she’ll wear the things tonight. Leaving Max deep in the interceptor’s engine, she finds a moment to wash and change before the evening meal. 

To her relief, the underpants are a good fit. The bra is trickier. She gets the fastenings to work, but it feels too big, the lace sitting loose over her breasts. Then she realises she can shorten the straps, and tug the back down a little. Her scrap of mirror suggests she’s got it on the way the mall’s plastic statues had. It looks about right, and feels… nice, such sumptuous fabric against her body. She pulls her tunic on, checking that nothing is showing, and goes to the meal.

As she eats, Furiosa is very aware of what she’s wearing, of the frivolous lace under her ordinary clothes. She half-wishes that she’d told Max, that he knew too. She wonders how he would react, how he will react, if he’ll like it. When she looks up, he’s watching her, smiling.

They don’t linger, after the meal. Back in her room, she pulls him in and kisses him. She wants to get their clothes off, but he’s going slow, stroking her through her leathers, through her tunic. He’s still snuggly, very tender of her. The result is that he’s half-naked when she’s only taken her boots off. He’s kissing her, hand sliding up her back, when he feels the bra through her top. He makes a surprised noise: it must feel different from her usual bindings. 

Furiosa takes a deep breath, and moves his hand to the hem of her tunic. Max strokes her sides as he pushes her top up, stops dead when he reaches the bra. She pulls the tunic over her head, quickly, a little nervous of his reaction but not wanting to miss any of it.  


It’s everything she wanted. His plump lips are parted, his eyes wide as he looks at her. She loves seeing Max when she surprises him, seeing him unguarded and happy. He strokes his hand up from her midriff, moving over hard muscle to soft silk. He swallows before speaking.

“How did you know?”

“Saw you looking.”

He pulls her closer, kisses her shoulder, next to the strap. She can feel his smile, the curve of his cheek, knows that she’s smiling too. He carefully cups her breast. 

“S’beautiful. You’re beautiful.” She’s glad she didn’t pick a padded bra. She’s dressed up but almost naked, bare enough to feel the warmth of his hand through the delicate fabric. His thumb traces the outline of a lace flower, then strokes her hard nipple. He’s still smiling, looking at her face, and down at his hand on her, then up again. He leans in to kiss her breast, his mouth brushing silk and skin. 

He slides his other hand down her back to her bum, slipping inside her leathers. Even without touch, his face would tell her when he reaches the lace of her underpants. She can’t help kissing him.

Max backs up, drawing her with him to the mattress. He drops to crouch at her feet, pulling her close to undo her trousers. He sighs as the leather slides down, revealing more black lace, a small bow. It’s not even a fastening, that knot of ribbon, nothing but decoration. He leans in to kiss it, his face against her, then goes on kissing: over fabric, over skin, over stray curls of hair. Glancing up at her, he looks so happy that her chest feels tight at the sight of him. She puts her hand on his shoulder to steady herself, his chin resting on her pubic bone and her leathers round her ankles. He turns his head, kisses her wrist.

When he looks back up at her, his expression is teasing. 

“What?” she says, making it a challenge. His hand strokes over her buttock, squeezes her through the fabric. His other hand is on her thigh, sliding between her legs.

“Wondering…” His voice has dropped to a deep rumble, a sound that goes right through her. His hands are still moving over the silk, his breath warm.

“Yeah?” 

“…how wet you are inside those?”

Furiosa moans out loud and drops onto him, scrambling to get astride him. He tugs her closer, getting his hand back between her legs, inside her underwear. He gives a purr of satisfaction as he works his fingers between her lips, finds her slick and wet. She has her arms tight around him, thighs gripping his hips. Her cunt opens easily for him when he slips a finger inside, adds a second. She’s already gasping.

He pulls his fingers out, reaching for her clit and starting to stroke. She slides her own hand down, puts it on his, over the fabric, pressing lace and silk against his knuckles. Max growls and leans in to kiss her. She can feel his cock, hard and hot against her thigh.

As he strokes her, he keeps looking at her, lifting his head to gaze, then moving back in to kiss her mouth, her breasts, her shoulders. Dropping his other hand to her bum, he leaves it outside her underwear, kneading her through silk. When she comes, he’s kissing her breast, sucking at her nipple. She can feel the heat of his mouth and a tickle of lace, threads rubbing against her as his lips and fingers work. He goes on kissing her as she gets her breath back, his face against her throat and shoulders.

She wants him inside her. Kicking her leathers off, she makes to pull the underpants down.

“Leave them,” he says, hoarse. Lying back on the mattress, he guides her onto him, gets her to straddle his hips. Unsure, she tries grinding against his cock, silk gusset against heated skin. He groans out loud, but shakes his head, reaching down to pull the crotch of the pants to one side, enough that he can get at her. He holds the lace taut against her skin as she works herself onto him, slow and wet.

Max is gazing up at her, that softness back in his face. Furiosa works her hips and squeezes, tugging a moan out of him. She wants to feel him come, to feel his cock jerk inside her and watch the way he loses himself. She strokes her hand over his belly, up to his chest, his heart beating strong and fast under her fingers as she rocks herself onto him. He pulls the crotch fabric a little more to the side, reaches in to get his fingers on her clit. She gulps at it, her body still worked up and shivery from her last orgasm. 

He’s panting, hips twitching under her. He’s trying to hold back, she thinks, waiting for her.

“Let go, let go,” she tells him, with a harder thrust and squeeze. “I want to see you.” He moans, his fingers tensing against her. She lifts her hand from his heart and moves it to her own, cupping and playing with her breast, fingers pressing on silk. Max is staring, eyes wide and dark, mouth open. He gives a sobbing breath and shakes apart. 

Furiosa drops her hand to tangle with his, stroking herself as she watches him. By the time she comes, he’s almost recovered, sprawled out and looking up at her. There’s a wet noise as she pulls off him, her new underwear soaked and sticky. If it’s wrecked, it was worth it. She’s flushed and panting, wants to wrap herself back around him.

Max sits up, propped on one arm as he reaches up to kiss her. He kisses her shoulders, her breasts, her face, cradling her, warm and safe and here. She giggles when he rubs his face against her bra, at the tickle of his stubble, at how good it feels.

“’M so lucky.” He’s snuggling against her, but lifts his head when she goes still. If anything, she’d thought Max was more fatalistic than she was, more attuned to the pitilessness of the wasteland. He strokes her face, more serious now, but still smiling, as if he can’t help himself, so filled with afterglow that he can’t stop. “Here. Now. With you.” He kisses her. “Lucky.” 

It should make her scared again, but instead the warmth of it floods through her. He kisses her, then ducks his head to her breasts, arm firm around her. Furiosa strokes her fingers through his hair, playing with that little tuft that stands up in spite of everything. She kisses the top of his head, holds him very tight as he nuzzles her.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm at [lurkinghistoric](http://lurkinghistoric.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.
> 
> The ["I did not make up the mall blame George and Nico"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5156510) tag is [nandamai's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nandamai/pseuds/nanda).


End file.
